I Wanna Write a Story
by Papergirl
Summary: Sam takes a break from work and wants to write a story, only he can't think of what to write. Will a real life mystery involving Josh and Donna give him ideas?
1. Creative Roadblocks

Title: I Wanna Write a Story 

Author: Amber Donahue (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)

Rating: PG-13 for some mild swearing

Category: Sam POV, Josh/Donna

Summary: Sam takes a break from work and wants to write a story, only he can't think of what to write. Will a real life mystery involving Josh and Donna give him ideas?

Author's Notes: Okay, I sat down at the computer yesterday and this came out. Have no idea where it came from, but am willing to try to finish it. Feedback always encourages me.

"I wanna write a story."

"What?" Toby didn't appear to be listening.

"I said, I want to write a story," Sam repeated, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Then do it. There's nothing stopping you… except for about seven speeches we have to write by tomorrow night."

Sam was not deterred by his boss's sarcastic words. He had been nourishing the desire to write a work of fiction for the past few weeks but kept putting it on the back burner. "In another four years," He'd tell himself. "In four years I'll have all the time in the world to write." His muse, however, had other ideas.

  
"I wanna write a story."

"Whoa. Déjà vu," Toby muttered, crossing out a two-line sentence on his legal pad and looking up at Sam.

"No, seriously, Toby. I want to write a story."

"It's not going to be about crime-solving pilgrims, is it?" The older man asked gruffly, cocking his head to the side and warily eyeing his deputy.

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet. I think I'm going to go write it right now."

Toby scratched the back of his head in reluctant agreement. "Fine, Sam. Go and abandon me for some story. I can staff some of this out to other, more qualified writers."

"You're not going to guilt me, Toby," Sam declared, clicking shut his laptop and standing. "I'm going to go write a story."

"Just do it already," Toby growled. As soon as Sam left his office, he bellowed for Bonnie.

"I'll be back soon, Toby," Sam said over his shoulder. He felt a shot of excitement course through his body. He was going to write a story. He hadn't done that in a while.

But where should he write it? The communications bullpen was much too crowded. Perhaps the mess?

Ah, yes. The mess! That was the answer.

Sam spun on his heel and changed direction, now heading downstairs with his computer tucked safely under his arm. The mess was the perfect place to write… and occasionally play solitaire.

But that was not going to happen today. Sam's mind was chock full of ideas, and he doubted he'd even have time to think about solitaire; there was way too much to write about in such a short amount of time. 

The mess wasn't empty, but it wasn't bustling with activity, either. He picked his favorite table, set his laptop on the table, and pulled it open. It was time to write.

Microsoft Word opened quickly as Sam readied himself for the monumental task ahead of him. He popped his neck, cracked his knuckles, and rolled his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was staring at the blinking cursor on the painfully white screen.

Okay. Ready. Time to go. 

Sam Seaborn raised his two hands and placed them above home row. He felt the empowering sense of anticipation flow through him. It was time to start his story.

Nothing was coming. 

'That's okay, don't panic,' He told himself. 'Just wait and it will come.'

Damn blinking cursor!

Okay, this wasn't working. Where had all those ideas gone? His mind was swamped with them a mere five minutes ago. Now that he was ready, they had somehow disappeared.

Typical.

He was all alone with his ambition.

"Maybe I need some pie," He said out loud to no one. Some intern sitting at the table next to him shot the Deputy Communications Director a confused look, perhaps not recognizing that the man talking to himself was of national importance and was allowed to occasionally act like an eccentric.

Damn interns.

Sam trudged up to wait in line for some pie. The only kind they had was pecan, but he wasn't in the mood for it. Besides, in all likelihood Toby would be down in five or so minutes demanding the last piece, and if there was no more pie there would be hell to pay.

Maybe the mess wasn't the best place to write. If he saw Sam, Toby was bound to make him get back to work.

Once again shutting his laptop, Sam headed to Josh's office. His best friend was supposed to be having some meeting with some senator (Sam had zoned out when Josh talked about it), so his office was empty and quiet.

"Hey, Sam," Donna greeted cheerfully, placing her hand over the phone she held to her ear. "Josh isn't back yet."

"Can I wait in his office?" Sam asked, feeling coy and proud of it. Donna didn't need to know his real reason for coming - she might try to distract him while he worked on his important story.

Sam practically ran into the office when Donna nodded her head. Yes! Time to get down to business.

While he waited for the computer to boot up, Sam swung open the refrigerator door and rifled through its contents. Expired yogurt, leftover Chinese take-out, a half-empty bottle of water, and a six pack of beer.

Grinning, Sam pulled out a beer bottle, twisted off the top, and took a swig. There. Maybe that would relax him now.

He plopped down in Josh's cushy office chair and, through much effort, managed to balance his computer and his beer with his feet on the desk.

"Time to get cracking, Seaborn," Sam muttered to himself, trying to get psyched. It wasn't working.

'This is ridiculous,' He thought. 'I am a world-renowned speech writer… well, maybe not world-renowned, but at least nationally… or municipally. Whatever. Anyway, I'm a speech writer. I write for a living. This should not be hard.'

Feeling slightly desperate, Sam did what he always did when he was stuck on a speech: play solitaire.

So, it wasn't the most efficient use of his time, but it helped clear his brain… at least, it usually did. Nothing seemed to be working today.

Feeling bored and restless after his third loss in a row, Sam quit the program and stared once again at the blinking cursor. It blinked at a constant rate, incessantly mocking him.

'I'll show YOU,' Sam thought, pointing his finger threateningly at his new enemy. His hands resumed their position on home row.

"Do what your creative writing teacher told you all those years ago," Sam instructed, momentarily wondering from where this talking-out-loud-to-himself phase had manifested itself. "Just write."

With a decisive nod, Sam began to type. However, because he felt too pressured, he merely made a stream of letters, namely asdfjkl;asdfjkl;asdfjkl; over and over again. His fingers hadn't left home row yet.

With a sigh, Sam held down the delete key and removed the non-words He could do this. He would do this, no longer because he wanted to, but because he had to prove the cursor wrong.

"I am insane!" He shrieked, leaning his head on the back of Josh's chair. "I am talking out loud to myself and plotting revenge on a stupid, blinking, evil cursor."

This pitiful news deserved another drink. Or two. Actually, it was more worthy of half the bottle. Anything less would be unsatisfactory.

The half a beer had settled in his stomach, but Sam was no closer to a story. He placed the bottle on a stack of papers on Josh's desk and rubbed at his eyes. He needed his glasses… but that required a trip back to his office, and Sam wasn't willing to risk a meeting with Toby.

Instead, he laced his hands behind his head and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to take a nap - he was merely resting his tired, strained eyes.

"Sam?"

Sam jumped in his seat, slamming back into consciousness. "Huh?" He asked sleepily, blinking rapidly and wiping his eyes.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Josh asked, exhaustion dripping from his words. His hands were at his sides, one holding his backpack, the other his coat.

"I'm, uh, I'm writing a story."

"Yeah. It really looked like you were working hard on that one."

"I was thinking about it," He defended. Josh dropped his stuff on a chair and walked over to his friend. He reached out and swept his feet off his desk. They landed on the floor with a thud Sam didn't feel, for they had long ago fallen asleep.

"Can't you do that in your office?"

"How'd your meeting go?" Sam asked, unwilling to relinquish his seat yet.

"It was all right. Nothing major."

"Good, that's good."

Josh spotted the beer on his desk. "You drunk?"

"Nope," Sam shut off his computer and closed it. No use fooling himself. He grabbed his bottle and stood.

A pink piece of paper was stuck to the bottom of the bottle. Josh deftly reached over and snatched it as he collapsed in his chair. Whatever it said, he didn't want Sam to know, for he folded it and shoved it in his shirt pocket.

Sam was too preoccupied with chugging the rest of his beer to notice.

"I'm trying to write a story, Josh," He whined. Josh groaned.

"It's not the crime-fighting pilgrims, is it?"

"Why does everyone hate that idea?"

"Because it's a bad one."

"I don't think it is."

"Well, you're freakish."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

Sam sighed and walked over to one of Josh's many doors. He tossed the empty beer bottle in the trash can and reached for the door handle, laptop once again securely under his arm. "I can't think of any stories to write."

"I'm sorry," Josh said, not entirely insincerely.

"I mean, there must be a million things I could write, but none of them would be any good, and hardly any original."

Josh grunted a non-committal response.

"It's a sad thing when you realize there may not be anything new to write," Sam decided with a slight frown on his face. Josh rolled his eyes.

"Looks like you'll be out of a job soon, my friend."

Sam gave him a look and opened the door. "See ya later, Josh."

He hadn't taken three steps into the hallway before someone collided with him. Luckily for his laptop, neither person had been moving very quickly.

"Sorry. Oh, hey, Spanky."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, Spanky."

"That's better."

CJ and Sam stared at each other for a second before CJ continued on her way. "Wait up!" Sam called, hurrying after her.

"Yeah?" She spun around at him expectantly. He shrugged his shoulders. 

"I'm writing a story but I may be possibly experiencing writer's block."

"Okay," CJ resumed walking.

"Can I hang out with you?"

"'Hang out with me'? I have important things to do today, Samuel. I have an important job talking about important things with important people."

"You're avoiding work, too, huh?"

"Shhh. Fine, you can hang out with me."

"Good," Sam smiled. "We just have to make sure Toby doesn't find us."

"Agreed."

For the next five minutes, Sam and CJ wondered aimlessly through the hallways, not even bothering to talk. They were looking for something to do, anything but work, but, unfortunately, they were at the White House and their options were significantly limited.

"Have you ever been in the pool?" CJ asked suddenly. Sam looked over at her, startled.

"No… Have you?"

"No."

They both stopped and turned to face each other, eyes growing wide with realization. "I don't have any swimming trunks, CJ."

"Oh, like I carry around a bathing suit."

"Do you know where it is?"

"The pool, or my bathing suit?"

"The pool."

"It's under the Press Room, I believe."

"Should we? I mean, I've already gotten in trouble for burning the White House. I don't know if I want to flood it, too."

"C'mon, Sam. Don't be a baby. We used to live in California. We NEED water to function properly. We're withering away in DC!"

"Are you sure there's even still water in the pool?"

"No, but I'm willing to find out. Are you game?"

Sam thought about it for a moment. "Nah, I better not. I'm slacking off because I want to write a story, not because I want to go swimming."

"You're writing that pilgrim detective story?" CJ queried, unable to hide the disdain in her voice.

"What is WITH everybody? It's a great idea!"

"Sure, Sam, sure."

"It is!"

"I believe you. So… you don't want to go?"

Sam shook his head, feeling guilty for abandoning CJ and ruining her fun.

"It's okay, Spanky. I'll go pry Toby away from his work. He'd be more fun to see in an inner tube anyway."

Sam was slightly offended by that, until he realized that Toby would look pretty funny in an inner tube… especially one with a duck head.

Ooh, that gave him an idea.

"Gotta run, CJ," Sam said, jogging through the hallway with a death grip on his computer. Back to the same ol' question : where should he write?

The Rose Garden would be nice, except it was cold and he had no coat. 'Eh, I'll brave the weather. I'll suffer for the greater good of my writing.'

With that thought he found himself standing in front of the door to the Rose Garden. A Secret Service agent was standing guard.

"It's a bit cold out there, Mr. Seaborn. Are you sure you don't want a coat?"

"Nah, I'll be fine, Greg."

Sam thought he braced himself for the onslaught of cold air, but he wasn't prepared for the bitter cold that stung through to the bone. He gasped - the strong, icy wind had momentarily taken away his breath.

The Rose Garden was empty and pretty pathetic-looking - nothing blooming, absolutely nothing rosy. He walked until he came to the first bench, the infamous bench on which both CJ and Ainsley had ruined their pants by ignoring the "Wet Paint" sign. He took a seat and blew on his hands to warm them up.

He was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't the best of ideas.

Nevertheless, he booted up his laptop once again, forgetting the fact that the bitter cold wasn't good for it, and opened up another new blank document.

Just as he was about to start typing, Sam noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a movement across the garden. He turned to look and, after a few seconds of eye strain, realized it was Josh.

Seconds later a second head bobbed into view. It was Donna. They were walking back and forth in the rose garden, partially hidden by a statue.

Sam's senses perked up. Forgetting about the freezing cold, Sam watched in voyeuristic curiosity as Josh handed a folded pink piece of paper to Donna. She leaned over and whispered something to him, and he laughed, putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her back towards the White House.

What the hell was that? What had he just witnessed?

Curiosity peaked, story long forgotten, Sam picked up his laptop and stealthily headed back inside, occasionally peeping over the shrubbery to see the two oblivious people.

Maybe this real-life mystery could inspire his story? Nah. Sam decided to forsake the novel idea (he laughed out loud at his pun, attracting a strange glance from a Secret Service guard) and focus instead on solving the mystery of what had just happened between Josh and Donna in the Rose Garden.

Besides, he couldn't take any more blinking cursors.

TBC

So, what do you think? Should I continue? Is it worth it? Please let me know.


	2. Conspiracies Abound

Title: I Wanna Write a Story 2/3

Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)

Author's Note: How ironic that a story about writer's block gave me such writer's block in trying to finish it. I'm working on the last part, so it should be up soon (soon being a relative term). Enjoy, and please feel free to review or send feedback.

***** 

His mind was racing, but it was the good kind of racing. Adrenaline, mixed with the so-called "creative juices," was pumping through his veins.

"What could be on that paper?" He wondered aloud as he ambled back to his office, clutching his laptop to his chest and deep in thought.

A memo? No, memos were never printed on pink paper, and even if they were, it wouldn't explain the secret meeting in the Rose Garden.

A letter? Perhaps. What type? And from whom?

An idea suddenly occurred to him; he wouldn't have doubted the presence of a light bulb over his head at that moment.

"A love letter!" He exclaimed cheerfully, happy to have solved the puzzle. Luckily, there was no one in the hallway to stare strangely at him.

For a second, Sam exercised the possibility that the pink piece of paper was NOT a love note, but simply a plain, boring pink piece of paper. For all he knew, it could be blank! But the second passed and, the idea firmly instilled in his brain, Sam returned to his office and began to write.

*****

"Sam! Are you done yet?" Toby barked from his office. His yell was followed by the familiar 'thwack' of his rubber ball hitting their shared wall.

"Hang on!" Sam called, biting his lip anxiously. He saved the open document as "Pink Paper Mystery" and hurried over to his boss's office.

"What do you need, Toby?" Sam asked from the doorway.

"Get in here," Toby growled, not even looking up from the legal pad on the desk in front of him. 

Sam swallowed nervously and shuffled into Toby's office. He quietly sank into the couch and made eye contact with Toby.

Big mistake. Toby's eyes were bright with fire. Angry fire, it seemed. Sam watched as a drop of sweat rolled down from his receding hairline, half-expecting it to boil on the way down.

'Wait a minute!' Sam thought suspiciously. 'That's not sweat. Toby's hair is soaked! And the room smells like chlorine.' Sam pondered this latest development briefly before he remembered his earlier conversation with CJ.

"You went swimming!" He exclaimed loudly, pointing an accusatory finger at the older man. 

"Sam, we're way behind schedule. We have six more speeches to write - by tomorrow, I might add- and you are slacking off," Toby tried to keep the anger in his voice, but instead ended up sounding more guilty than mad.

"You went swimming!" Sam repeated, his voice an octave higher than before. "CJ got to you!"

Toby lowered his eyes shamefully. "No comment."

Sam leapt to his feet, invigorated by Toby's embarrassed hypocrisy. "YOU went SWIMMING! In the middle of the work day! And then you have the audacity to call me a slacker?!?"

Toby looked up at him calmly. "Are you done?"

Sam sank back into the couch, feeling much better.

"Yes."

"Okay, then," Toby stood up and rounded his desk. "We each took a little break, so now it's time to work. Here's half the pile. You do half, I do half."

"All right," Sam said, grabbing his stack of folders. He stood to leave.

"Seriously, Sam. We can't procrastinate any more. We have work to do."

Sam nodded solemnly and headed back to his office. As soon as he sat down he heard the 'thwack' of the rubber ball once again hitting the wall.

"Do you need something else?" Sam snapped, appearing almost instantly in Toby's doorway.

The older man looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"You called?" Sam reminded him, gesturing to the ball in his boss's hand. 

"Oh yeah. Bonnie said the new numbers for the education speech are on your desk. Be sure you use those."

  
Sam nodded and once again left Toby's office. In the middle of the bullpen, he stooped to retie his shoe and heard CJ's voice. He glanced up in time to see the six foot Press Secretary tripping over him.

She landed face-first on the floor next to him. The few people in the bullpen grew silent in anticipation. CJ slowly raised her head to glare at Sam. He'd never been more concerned about his physical well-being.

"Samuel," CJ purred, eyes flashing. Sam grew even more afraid at the eerie absence of anger in her voice. 'Oh no,' he thought, stomach sinking.

"Yes?" He asked, swallowing nervously.

"We really need to stop running into each other," She said sweetly, standing up and brushing herself off. 

"Okay," Sam agreed simply, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry."

"That's fine."

The office returned to its usual bustle. Sam and CJ looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment. CJ crossed her arms expectantly.

"Do you need something, Spanky?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

Sam shook his head, feeling slightly bewildered. "No, I - I'm fine… Well, to be honest, I expected more of an… angry… response from you. You know, about my clumsiness and such."

CJ smiled, a devilish twinkle in her eyes/ "I cannot get angry today. It's impossibly. Do you want to know why?"

Sam nodded, curious, and CJ leaned over to whisper in his ear. Sam's blue eyes grew wide at her words.

"You saw Toby in his bathing suit?" Sam repeated in a surprised whisper.

CJ leaned forward again to reveal more. It took all of Sam's restraint not to roll on the floor crying from laughter. He motioned CJ to follow him into his office.

"Where did you find that stuff?" He wanted to know. CJ shrugged.

"There was a trunk in the pool room. It was full of a bunch of things: swim trunks, bathing suits, bikinis, goggles, flippers, snorkels-"

"Did you get a picture?" Sam's lips quivered - he couldn't resist the urge to laugh for much longer.

"No, but I talked to Dave down in security, and he told me there's a video camera in there. And he got it all on tape."

"That's priceless, CJ," Sam smiled fiendishly. CJ mirrored his smile and opened the door, ready to leave. "I've got to get back to work."

Sam nodded and crossed his arms, peeping through the wall window at his unsuspecting boss. Toby in swimming trunks and water wings. Ha!

He stood for a moment, lost in thought and absentmindedly watching Toby. His brows unconsciously furrowed at the sight of CJ entering the room.

Feeling unusually voyeuristic, Sam remained rooted to his spot. He watched in fascination the subtext of the CJ-Toby conversation.

The Deputy Communications Director enjoyed CJ-Toby subtext, even more than Josh-Donna. With the latter two, the love and attraction was blatantly, almost painfully, obvious. Everyone knew. Deep, deep down, Josh and Donna probably knew, too. The Toby-CJ situation, on the other hand, was more complicated, more intricate, more challenging to analyze. A look here, some innuendo there - that was the limit. At times, Sam wondered if either of them knew. Perhaps Toby, but it was always hard to tell. Sam liked the challenge.

He picked up a file folder and flipped it open, lowering it so he could peer over the top and watch Toby and CJ through the window.

Toby was still sitting at his desk, fingers laced behind his head as he stared attentively up at CJ. She had a hand on her hip and the other hand had a pink piece of paper.

Sam gasped. His eyes grew wide, and he dropped the folder.

What was going on?

His previous hypothesis now destroyed, Sam scratched his head in wonder. It was very unlikely that Josh gave Donna a love letter on the same day that CJ gave Toby one - and on the same colored paper!

But what could it mean? If they weren't love letters- Sam reluctantly admitted that his initial idea was most likely incorrect - what on Earth were they?

Sam sank into his office chair. He stared straight ahead, chewing his lips thoughtfully while his mind raced.

Five minutes later, Sam still had no clue. He sighed and switched on his laptop, tapping his fingers impatiently as it booted up.

When the computer was ready, Sam opened the document titled "Pink Paper Mystery" and groaned at what he had written.

"This is horrible," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not getting anything accomplished. Work, my story- this is useless!"

His right hand maneuvered the mouse arrow to close the document and right click the title. He dragged the cursor down to 'Delete' and let go. A window popped up, asking him if he really wanted to delete it.

Sam sighed and clicked 'no.' Then he opened a fresh Word document, grabbed one of the folders he'd gotten from Toby, and set to work.

Sam hoped that the back of his mind would be trying to solve the Pink Paper Mystery while he got some work done.

*****

"What's on those pink pieces of paper?"

Joshua Lyman jumped in surprise. A frustrated-looking Sam Seaborn was standing in his doorway, hand still on the door he'd slammed open. A stray lock of hair was covering his left eye and Sam blew air at it to move it, still trying to appear tough.

Josh sighed and sat back in his chair, capping his pen. "What on God's green Earth are you talking about?"

"The pink pieces of paper, Josh. You gave one to Donna today in the Rose Garden. CJ gave one to Toby, and I want to know what they are."

Sam was too observant to miss the brief, panicked look of shock that flashed across Josh's features.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," He insisted.

Sam sighed. It must be something important if his best friend was lying to him.

"Josh, I can't play this game right now. I have two speeches to write and one to rewrite because I can't focus. So please -"

"You want to take a nap in my office again?" Josh smirked.

"Writer's block isn't funny, Josh."

The Deputy Chief of Staff rolled his eyes. "Maybe not, but you're endlessly amusing when you have it."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. This was not what he came in there to argue. Josh was trying to go off on a tangent so Sam would stop questioning him. Normally, Sam would oblige, but not today. His work and his overall sanity was at stake.

"Josh, are you or are you not going to tell me what's on those little pink pieces of paper?" Sam asked in his best no-nonsense voice. It must have worked because Josh looked somewhat guilty.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I can't tell you. You're not supposed to know," He told him sadly.

Sam pun on his heel and left. He started fuming more and more with each step back to his office.

How DARE they leave him out of the loop again! If there was one thing Sam hated more than writer's block, it was being out of the loop. He'd complained countless times to Josh and Toby about the lack of information that came his way. Apparently, nothing had changed.

Sometimes, to make himself feel better, Sam would pretend that instead of blatantly ignoring him, the rest of the senior staff had merely miscommunicated with each other. Maybe CJ thought Toby was going to tell Sam, Toby thought Josh was, and so forth. Maybe they all assumed he already knew. Whenever Sam discovered he'd been kept in the dark, his brain automatically imagined several less-hurtful scenarios for the oversight.

But there were no scenarios in this instance. Josh, Donna, CJ, Toby - they were all perpetrating some elaborate scheme to not only keep Sam uninformed, but also oblivious to his ignorance.

And Sam had had enough of it.

He rocketed out of his office in the direction of Leo's. Sam was no narc- he hated tattling. But whatever was going on between Josh, Donna, CJ, and Toby was too frustrating and hurtful to ignore.

"Hey, Margaret," Sam swallowed his anger and smiled at the redhead. He needed to be charming. Witty. Calm. "Is Leo in? I need to speak with him."

She shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, Sam. He's catching up on paperwork and I'm under strict orders not to interrupt him."

"Margaret!" Leo's voice boomed. She rolled her eyes and entered the office, leaving Sam alone in the hallway.

"Yes?" Sam heard Margaret chirp.

"Was that Sam's voice I heard?" Leo sounded freakishly hopeful.

"Yes, sir, but the President insisted that you use this lull approp-"

"Send him in, Margaret."

"Yes, sir. But I'm not going to cover for you when-"

"Just send him in."

Margaret rejoined Sam and motioned to the open door. "Mr. McGarry will see you now."

Sam nodded and walked inside the Chief of Staff's office, carefully shutting the door behind him.

"Hello there, Sam. Thanks for the distraction," Leo nodded his head towards the foot-high stack of folders and papers in his inbox. He folded his hands and leaned forward as Sam took a seat across from him. "I think I need a new prescription for my glasses," He joked, rubbing his eyes. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Leo, I, I don't know exactly," Sam was losing some of his steam. "I just-"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened and Margaret poked her head inside. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I forgot to give this to you. I was told it was important."

Leo waved her in and she walked over to his desk, handed him a pink piece of paper, and left.

Sam wanted to scream.

All his anger came rushing back, and then some. He leapt to his feet as Leo scanned the paper.

"That is exactly why I'm here, sir!" Sam ranted, pointing at the pink paper. "It's driving me crazy!"

"What is?" Leo asked innocently.

"The pink pieces of paper!" Sam shrieked. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. "The pink pieces of paper," He repeated in his normal register. "Josh gave one to Donna, CJ gave on to Toby, and now Margaret has given one to you. It's driving me crazy! Josh refused to tell me what's on them!"

Leo stared at him, unblinking. "I don't understand the problem," He said blankly.

Sam let out a cross between a shout and a sigh. "Is the President busy right now?" He asked slowly, keeping his voice level. Leo shook his head.

"The President has a budget meeting in ten minutes, and he's using all his time between meetings to brush up on his Spanish before our trip next week."

"Fine," Sam said through clenched teeth. He walked over to the door connecting to the Oval Office. "But I really need to see him."

President Josiah Bartlet looked up in surprise as Sam stormed in through the door.

"Mr. President?" Sam asked loudly, insistently. Leo hurried into the room after him.

"Mr. President, I'm sorry for the interruption. I'm sure Sam will be leaving now," He shot daggers at the young deputy.

Sam was undeterred.

"No! I'm sorry, Mr. President, but I really need to talk to you."

Bartlet looked from the frazzled Sam to the apologetic Leo. He looked back at Sam before turning to Leo.

"It's okay, Leo. I have time, and it looks like whatever Sam has to say is important."

Leo nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President."

With that, he exited, leaving a fuming Sam alone with the Leader of the Free World.

"Why don't you have a seat, Sam?" Bartlet suggested, standing and heading to the chairs by the couch. Sam tilted his head, seemingly considered it, and sat across from the President.

"Mr. President," Sam started. Bartlet put a hand up for him to stop.

"Lemme guess: Tú tienes un problema."

Sam nodded. "Sí," He answered in Spanish without even realizing it. "¡No tengo pelo de tonto! Josh y Toby y los otros son imposíbles. ¡Tienen unos papeles rosados y no me permiten a verlos! Quedo boquiabierto que-"

Bartlet held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it, Sam. I don't speak as much Spanish as you do."

Sam grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm just so riled up right now, sir."

"You said something about pink papers? That was about all I picked up."

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "Josh, Donna, CJ, Toby, Margaret, Leo - they all are passing around these little pieces of pink paper."

Bartlet patted his suit coat and pulled out a folded pink paper from the inside pocket. "You mean these?"

Sam's eyes grew wide. "Yes, sir! I didn't know…" He trailed of and slowly got to his feet.

"Sam, it's not a big deal."

"Yes it is, sir. I'm always left out of the loop. Always! And now, with the way everyone's been hiding things and acting strangely-"

"Calm down, Sam," Bartlet insisted amiably. "There's a good reason you're being kept in the dark about the pink pieces of paper."

"I don't believe you, sir," Sam said sullenly.

"You'll find out when you're supposed to. There's nothing you need to worry about now."

Sam looked at him, skepticism written on his face.

"Trust me," Bartlet tried to meet his eyes, but Sam looked away.

The Deputy Communications Director backed away from the President and towards the main door. "I'm sorry, sir. You can get back to your studying, and I'll just return to my increasingly hostile work environment."

"Sam," President Bartlet stood, but Sam left. He shook his head. "Charlie!"

"Yes, Mr. President?" Charlie appeared in the doorway seconds later.

"I have a budget meeting now, but I need to see Josh, Donna, CJ, Toby - basically everyone that got a pink piece of paper - as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," Charlie nodded and closed the door behind him as he left.

tbc


End file.
